Snow Job
by Nicole Harpe
Summary: A major snow storm strand Sam and Al at a unique motel with an array of odd fellow travelers.
1. Chapter 1

**Snow Job**

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written as part of a raffle prize for the people made donations to CancerCare in honor of Dean Stockwell's 70th birthday. Five hundred dollars was collected. This donation helps sustain this worthwhile organization that provides online support to cancer patients and their families. Congratulations to the winner whose generosity allows me to publish **_Snow Job_** here.While written as a raffle prize, the story was inspired by an overnight stay made by the author and a traveling companion. Some of what you will read isn't that far from the truth.

SPECIAL THANKS - The story was inspired by an overnight stay made by the author and a traveling companion, "the brunette in Delaware" whose "whimsical" sense of humor created many a scenario in this story.

DISCLAIMER: This Quantum Leap™ story utilizes characters that are copyright © by Bellasarius Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement on their respective copyrights are intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan fiction story is written solely for the entertainment of the readers and are not for profit. All fiction, plots, and original characters are the sole creations of the author.

_**Part One**_

There's snow and then there's snow. The difference being that the first is a delicate white dusting of picaresque scenery where you sit inside by a warm fire looking out through a huge window at tiny flakes dancing on branches of winter willow trees. Then there's the kind of snow that when you're driving makes seeing your hood ornament impossible. They were thick in the middle of that kind of snow. Not only was snow falling faster than the stock market in '29, they were on a two lane back road in the middle of Indiana farmland. It was the snowstorm of the century and it was only 1988.

Neither one could see a thing. The older man sat in the passenger seat, shook his head at his friend and growled, "Admit it, would you? Sam Beckett, boy genius, screwed up big time. We've been driving for nearly four hours now. We are miles from South Bufu and it's your fault. Thank God we ate lunch before we left."

Six time PhD, MD and Nobel Prize winner Sam Beckett grew up in Indiana. He knew how to drive in snow. "We're fine. You just don't understand lake effect snows."

"What's to understand? Lakes have water. Cold air turns water to snow. Problem isn't the snow. It's you thinking you can drive when you can't see ten feet in front of you."

There really wasn't any legitimate argument to fall back on. Admiral Albert Calavicci was right and Sam didn't like being wrong. He especially didn't like it when he made huge stupid mistakes. Leaving his cousin's campgrounds when the weather reports predicted record setting snows in the middle of the Snow Belt was stupid. Bragging that he could drive in any kind of snow storm was stupid. Turning off the main highway was way stupid and ending up being completely lost was the most stupid of all. "Al, I know it looks like we're in trouble here, but we'll be fine. Just give me a few more minutes to get us back on 80 and we'll be in Chicago in three hours." Then it occurred to him to ask, "Where is South Bufu?"

A grumbled, impatient snarl sounded out, "Below the belt."

It made no sense to Dr. Beckett. He looked over at his passenger in order to placate the admiral's frazzling nerves. Squinting out the front window Al suddenly pointed like an Airedale spotting a duck. "Look out!" Through the thick snow, Sam saw the front headlights of a farm truck barreling toward them. He swerved to avoid a head-on and managed to keep control of the rental car as it spun against the draw of the passing truck. With a ka-chunk, ka-chunk and a final hiss, the car came to a stop. Sam wasn't sure which direction they were aimed. "God, that was close."

The little Admiral was ready to blow a gasket. "You think so? Listen, buddy, you find some place for us to wait out this wonderful Midwestern weather so we can get to Chicago in something other than body bags."

There was no sense in arguing. Al was absolutely right. It was time to suck it up and own responsibility for their near miss. "Okay, okay. Let me get out and see if I can find any markers around here. I'm not sure where we are."

"Lovely." Al stared at the younger man who just seemed to be staring back. "What? You think I'm going with you? Nice try, Beckett. I don't know anything about Indiana except that it's east of Illinois and west of Ohio. You want to find markers? Then go find them. I'm waiting here."

Sam muttered something best left unheard by the former astronaut. Opening the door was hard and it slammed shut against the wind and pelting snows. Walking away from the car was grueling and Sam had to hold onto his buttoned coat. Considering the direction the wind blew Sam figured the car pointed west. He made his way toward what he thought was the shoulder of the road. Snow came up to his knees and at 6'1" he knew that was way too much snow to keep driving in. He hated when Al was right about his silly mistakes. There was too much snow to keep going and before he completely separated himself from the car, he decided to turn back. As he looked behind, he saw a small sign half buried in a snow bank. When he got close enough to read it, he was both elated and deflated. There was a motel a quarter of a mile farther west. Unfortunately, it was the French Lick Motel and Lodge. They were nowhere near French Lick, Indiana so he knew there was only one reason to assume the name and his lothario companion was going to have a field day. Bottom line - they needed shelter and if it was going to be in the French Lick Motel, then so be it.

When he got back in the car, Al was blowing warm breath on his gloved hands. "You find anything, Sir Edmund?"

The reference to Sir Edmund Hillary was enough of a dig to put Sam over the edge. "You know, I could have just walked away. Pretended I got lost and left you out here to freeze to death."

"Now, there's a threat." Al knew Sam would no more desert him than he would desert his own mother. They were friends beyond even their own understanding; brothers of the mind, of the heart, of the soul who could not be more dissimilar if they tried to be. Despite a childhood of poverty, want and abandonment, Al Calavicci grew up to be a true American hero. After a life of flying airplanes and space ships, he had enough. Concentrating on his interest in quantum mechanics, he hooked up with a kid, a kid who was so wet behind the ears he still looked bug-eyed at things he thought were neat.

Sam Beckett grew up on a dairy farm in central Indiana. A life filled with opportunity for success was his from the moment of his birth. Meeting up with the admiral didn't start joyfully. Sam had to sew stitches into Al's knuckles after the older man was pulled away from a fight with a broken vending machine. Neither one decided to befriend the other. It was just something cooked up by the gods and ultimately fulfilled by the fates. There was no doubt to anyone that Sam and Al were brothers willing to go to the wall for each other, but now they were out in the middle of a place Al not-so-lovingly called South Bufu and Sam was going to pay for his error for a long time, a very, very long time.

The car decided not to cooperate. The spinout screwed up something in the engine and with a blizzard surrounding them, there was no way to diagnose and fix it. Sam also knew that car engines were not his territory. The quantum physicist could do basic stuff, but when it came to engines, the admiral was the genius with wheels or wings. He could make almost any broken mechanical thing work again.

Sam didn't want to give voice to the next leg of their journey. After heaving a sigh just a little louder than the wind outside, he looked over and offered the obvious, "The car won't start."

"Good observation, Sherlock. What does that mean for me?" Sam's eyebrows raised and turned the 35-year-old face into a pre-teen whose dog really did eat his homework. Al stared into the innocent mug and chewed on the end of an unlit Chivello cigar. "There's no way to fix this car out here." Sam's face morphed into a Bassett Hound puppy. "No, no, no. I'm not walking in this stuff. It's got to be 10 degrees out there!"

"It's about 25 and it's not that far a walk, only a quarter of a mile. It's longer than that from your office to the Imaging Chamber at the Project."

"Yeah, but that's all indoors and climate controlled." He had to look out the window. "Put away the face, Sam. You know you always get me with that face."

Sam forgot that the innocent thing got to Al every time. Time to play it up. "There's nothing else to do. We won't miss the motel if we stay on the road."

The wind decided to kick up a few notches and whistle through the rented car's windows. "Good grief. I never liked forced marches, but at least we did them in Florida." The edge of Sam's smile turned down dropping the last straw. "Don't do that, Sam!" Al buttoned the top button of his calf-length camelhair coat, pulled his fedora down, tucked his gloves into his sleeves, pulled on the door handle and pushed. Then he pushed again, and again. The door wouldn't budge. "This is good. There's too much snow for me to open the door."

It took a bit of work, but Sam was able to push open his door. "Wow, in a few more minutes, we would be stuck in here. Climb over to this side." If looks could kill, his eyes were daggers, steam spewed from his ears - pick a cliché. Al's blood pressure made his face redder than the cold was going to make his nose.

Sam squeezed through the small opening between the car and the drifting snow. "It's only two blocks, Al. You can do it. You're a big boy now."

Bucket seats with an automatic on the floor are a pain in the ass to crawl over in winter clothes. The only thing going for the admiral was his size. Being small paid off on occasions. It didn't take long and wasn't as complicated as he thought it was going to be, but he still wasn't letting Sam off the hook. "Yeah, well don't forget we have luggage to cart along with us." Al found himself outside in the blizzard. "Swell, just swell. Open the trunk, Nanook."

Sam made his way to the back end of the car. "Why are we hauling luggage? We'll only be here a few hours."

Following in his friend's footsteps, Al found his duffel in the trunk and threw it into Sam's hands. "Hold onto this for a minute." The garment bag was still inside the trunk. He opened it and pulled out a pair of jeans. After taking his duffel bag back, he rolled up the jeans and stuffed them inside along with some sweats and a robe. Low mumbles cut through the whipping winds. "Damn motel better have an iron." Moving aside he said, "Get your stuff."

He looked at the admiral quizzically. "We'll be back on the road in a few hours."

The duffel bag handles were thrown over his shoulders like a backpack. "Then you can point your finger at me and laugh." The unwieldy bag was adjusted to as good as it gets and Al waited. "You're not taking anything?"

"No need to. We are just getting inside to be warm and if we don't start walking soon, warm is something we won't know for a very long time." Adding punctuation to his statement, Sam slammed down the trunk. "Ready?"

Finally, the admiral smiled. He knew Sam was trying to appear in control. The situation turned into a game and Al was getting ready to win. "Okay, do what you want. You move out first. I'll be right behind you."

"Behind me?"

"Yeah, you're bigger than I am. You'll get through the snow easier. I'll be right on your ass, so move before the snow reaches parts that I'd rather not get frozen."

Sam started to laugh. Al could almost always get him to laugh. He lifted up his size 12 boot and started trudging along the edge of the road making their pilgrimage to the French Lick Motel.

It took them nearly an hour to get the quarter mile to the rundown housing. A flickering purple neon sign with a few lights out welcomed their arrival at the French Lick Motel. It was even worse than Sam imagined and a whole lot better than some places Al had seen in his younger days. The Admiral started giggling. Exhaustion and the absolute ridiculousness of the sign had him out and out laughing in only a few seconds. Seems that a series of neon tubes had burned out and fluorescent pink color flashed Lick Me and Lodge. "So, we're staying at Lick Me and Lodge? You didn't bother to tell me this, Sam. This is choice."

The stories were going to be expanded upon until the plight of the two travelers would become a work of fiction worthy of John Irving with illustrations by Salvador Dali. "This is the French Lick Motel."

"And that makes it better?" The laughter got bigger and bigger. If he wasn't sure of burying himself in the drifts, Al could have doubled over. "You are some piece of work, Beckett." He walked past his friend toward what appeared to be the check-in.

The French Lick Motel looked like it had never been new. Dilapidation was obvious even through the mists of falling snow. The office was at the end of the single story, oddly blue structure. A faint yellowish light filtered through a window frosted over like a Christmas card. Separating the office from the rooms was a covered walkway containing two vending machines. Past the machines were doors to three rooms and that was it. To the side was a parking lot far too large for the number of available rooms. The French Lick Motel was not a destination for families making their way cross country. This was a by-the-hour motel for truckers wanting a little exercise.

Al knew Sam was mortified. The Midwestern morals the scientist grew up with cringed at the kind of place he was going to be entering. Al's own values were less Puritanical and if pushed, he would admit to encountering similar establishments at various, more randy times in his life. After staring at the door for a few moments, Sam took the plunge and stepped toward the entry. He had to work at pulling open the screen door and he was grateful to see the ragged wooden door behind it pushed into the room. Once inside, they looked around for some sign of life.

Yellow light was produced by two bare bug lights bulbs above the check-in. Al walked around staring at the dirty walls and the one chair against the back wall. A milk crate turned upside down had two dog-eared Car and Driver magazines from 1956 laying on it. The Admiral picked one up. "Hey, a classic! I think I'd actually like to read this." He tried to thumb through the pages, "If I could unstick the pages." With a bit of disgust he tossed the magazine down. "I don't even want to imagine what that goo might be. Glad I still have my gloves on."

Sam was trying to see into a small back office hoping to find a caretaker. He called out. "Hello? Is anyone here?" No one answered so he tried again. "Hello?"

The admiral looked inside the wood-burning stove in the corner, saw the last of an ember die out, and had to laugh again. "Keep calling. Maybe Norman is in the back taking care of Mom." Coming at Sam with an invisible kitchen knife wrapped in his fist, he squealed, "Whee! Whee! Whee!"

"Al, stop that. You're creeping me out."

"Yeah, well, Hitchcock decided against this place because it was too nasty." A broom leaned against the wall. "Have a feeling that hasn't been used in, oh, maybe a decade." He pulled the duffel off his back and dropped it next to Sam. "Just sign the register and let's go." While Sam was signing in, Al walked behind the counter and found one key. "Looks like we're in room two. Hope our neighbors are quiet." Tossing the key at Sam he kept talking, "On the other hand, if the television isn't any good maybe a glass at the wall would be entertaining."

"I can't believe you said that."

"Sure you can." Al winked and held the door open. "After you, Bwana."

"You going to stop with the names?"

"What do you think?" Sam started toward him. "Don't forget my duffel, Norman."

As he picked up the duffel, Sam warned, "Just remember what Norman did."

The Admiral didn't turn around. He simply continued softly squealing, "Whee, whee, whee!"

The younger man knew he was in for some major teasing. There was little to do except tune out the admiral and start doing mental gymnastics about the computer they were building. In fact, involving his friend in some calculations for the Project might be the thing to while away the few hours he figured they would be stuck.

The screen door hadn't had any chance to close, so Sam pushed past his buddy and walked toward the rooms. Since the wind blew drifts against the front of the building, the snow was well over his knees. The sky had darkened and it was a good thing they weren't stranded in their car.

From behind him, Sam heard the admiral ask, "You think they have a good restaurant here?"

The physicist stopped in his tracks and turned to face the voice. "You have got to be kidding." One look at Al's face and he knew he'd been had. "Okay, okay, so you're kidding. Once we get inside I'll go check the vending machines."

The Admiral had another reason to laugh, "Beckett, you're so easy."

The key rattled in the lock and with a few adjustments of the doorknob, it finally slid the deadbolt. Sam was about to push when Al stopped him. "Wait! Get the snow from the door or it'll all spill inside." Without waiting for help, Al started pushing the drift away from the entrance. Sam was glad to see that his buddy wasn't going to be completely impossible, but then the night was young.

Sam tossed Al's duffel on the bed and turned on the light. The overhead lamp held another yellow bug light, but at least this one was inside some kind of sconce. The two men stood at the door and stared. One queen-sized bed pushed into the far corner. A small table by the front window held up a sad looking television whose rabbit ears were wrapped in crumpled aluminum foil so brittle it was cracking with age. Two folding chairs were closed up and leaning against the table. A patterned carpet hid a lot of whatever spilled on it over the past millennium. A night table next to the bed was beat up, but still managed to support a lamp, a clock and a book. Al had to see what it was. "Ah, Gideon has been here."

Sam stumbled forward, eyes wide open and scared to his bones. "There's only one bed."

With a saunter worthy of his upper hand Al slowly walked to the younger man's side, put his hand on Sam's shoulder quietly saying, "As a general rule, one bed is all you need." He paused before whispering directly into Sam's ear, "Unless you're menaging a trois. In that case a second bed makes for some interesting positions." Al took off his coat and cursed at how wet it was. "I love the scent of wet camelhair in the morning." He treaded with misgivings toward the far end of the room hoping against hope that he'd find a closet that actually held a hanger. "Hooks, nothing but hooks." Looking back at Sam he continued, "Hopefully there will be a towel or two in the bathroom that has been washed sometime this decade." With Sam waiting and watching him as if he were about to fly off to fight another war, Al disappeared into the abyss. It wasn't too much of a surprise when a yellow glow emanated from the bathroom. "More bug lights, Sam, but we have two towels and a rat trap."

"Rat trap? You mean a mouse trap."

Coming back into Sam's view, Al held up a trap bigger than the Gideon Bible. "Not unless the mouse weighs 18 pounds." He held it up higher. "The spring was sprung, but I don't smell dead animal carcass." Tossing into a waste basket, he joked, "I think we're safe. Looks like the rats moved out awhile ago." Without his coat, he was feeling chilled. "Find the heat. Turn it up high. It's freezing in here."

Sam found something passing for a space heater bolted to the wall by the window. He flipped every switch, but nothing happened. "I don't think it works." Now he had ammunition. "So, you think you can get this to work, Mr. Mechanical Genius?"

The challenge was presented and every so often, when someone challenges, you just have to take it up. Al sauntered to the window. Looked at the situation and shook his head. "You know, Sam, sometimes solutions are pretty complicated." He leaned down and grabbed at something. "And then there are times when solutions are pretty basic." The cord was held in Sam's view. "Plug the damn thing in."

The quantum physicist never looked for easy answers first. It was a personality trait he was trying to change. It always seemed to happen when Al was around and that was the worst possible place. The Admiral had a good memory and these little lapses came around to haunt Sam time after time.

Al took Sam's coat and slipped the chain inside the collar over one of the hooks. The towel was wrapped over the other hook and Al gently placed his coat on the padding. A stickler for the condition of his clothes, Al did not want hook marks in his expensive custom-tailored overcoat. The equally expensive fedora was placed on top of a rickety shelf.

The heater started throwing out warm air rattling like Sumo wrestlers facing off in a ring filled with bubble wrap. Incessant crackling was a bit upsetting, but at least warmth filled the room quickly.

Sam set up the folding chairs and sat down. "Well, this is just swell." As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he cringed. "You're not going to forget I said that, are you?"

"Nope." The older man plopped onto the bed and the sway almost threw him off. "Damn, this thing has seen more action than me."

It was Sam's turn to laugh. "That's a statistical impossibility."

Al stared off thinking a bit, "Maybe you're right."

Sam snapped his fingers and muttered, "Damn. I didn't bring my briefcase."

"It's not too long a walk back to the car. Shouldn't take you much more than two hours or so." A little too much smugness snuck into Al's comment.

Sam was about to toss something at the admiral, but there was nothing within reach. "What are we going to do here?"

"We're going to wait until the ski patrol digs us out."

"Yeah, but just waiting like this with nothing to do - I'm going to go crazy."

A thought of Vietnam flipped in and fled as quickly. "Einstein, consider the worst possible scenario. Let's say we're stuck here for five days. Five days isn't all that bad. You got a roof over your head. It's warm. There's running water and indoor plumbing. The most difficult thing we may confront is being hungry. I think we could both survive fasting for a week or more. Now, you think even with all that you'd still go crazy?"

It made sense, but that didn't matter. "Yes, I will and you'll be the one paying for it."

"I'm beginning to see that." Al sat up. "Okay, here's what you're going to do. Put on your coat and go back to that vending machine. Get all the food you can pay for and if you can't pay for any, break the damn glass and grab what you can. We'll pay for repairing the machine."

Sam started going through his pockets. "I don't know how much change I have. You got any?"

"I don't carry change."

As Sam started putting on his coat, he nodded, "That's right. Now, how did you put it? 'There should be only one bulge in a man's pants and it shouldn't jingle.'"

Al laughed. "It's true. You don't want women staring at your crotch because it rattles."

Turning to his friend and in his most Puritanical voice Sam spoke quietly, "No, Al, I don't want anyone staring at my crotch for any reason."

Tormenting the scientist would be great fun. "Kid, you got to get out of Indiana before you get to be an old man and the way you're thinking, that's going to be in about three weeks. Go get food and something to drink. I'm not sure I trust the tap water here."

Sam grumbled and bundled and got himself to the door of the room. "I'll be back." The door opened and snow pelted in. "If I'm not back in an hour, tell my mother I love her." He shut the door behind him leaving the admiral alone in the godforsaken French hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Snow Job**

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story was written as part of a raffle prize for the people made donations to CancerCare in honor of Dean Stockwell's 70th birthday. Five hundred dollars was collected. This donation helps sustain this worthwhile organization that provides online support to cancer patients and their families. Congratulations to the winner whose generosity allows me to publish **_Snow Job_** here.While written as a raffle prize, the story was inspired by an overnight stay made by the author and a traveling companion. Some of what you will read isn't that far from the truth.

SPECIAL THANKS - The story was inspired by an overnight stay made by the author and a traveling companion, "the brunette in Delaware" whose "whimsical" sense of humor created many a scenario in this story.

DISCLAIMER: This Quantum Leap™ story utilizes characters that are copyright © by Bellasarius Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement on their respective copyrights are intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan fiction story is written solely for the entertainment of the readers and are not for profit. All fiction, plots, and original characters are the sole creations of the author.

_**Part Two**_

Alone for the first time and able to relax his bravado, Al got up off the bed and began pacing. Confinement wasn't his favorite thing and being confined with his best buddy was okay, but still confinement was confinement. He pulled the faded drape from the window and watched snow blow across the Indiana plains. They were stuck. In all his years, he had never seen this kind of winter. After a few minutes of studying the endless snowfall, the television caught his eye. No doubt the appliance had seen better days, but if he was lucky, maybe it would work. He turned it on and waited. There was a faint hum and the old faded screen glowed in shades of gray. Local news was talking about the snow and it wasn't encouraging.

"We are in the middle of the storm of the century. Indiana State Police has asked everyone to remain home. No businesses in our viewing area are open. The roads are treacherous and visibility is barely ten feet. The National Weather Service indicates that the snow will continue for at least another eight to ten hours with accumulations of 30 inches or more expected before it ends. High winds could make drifts reach more than 10 feet in some areas. Be careful. This is dangerous weather." The anchor smiled as if nothing was wrong. He looked to his left. "Now for sports. So Jim, any games being played?"

The sports reporter's laugh was as real as the turf in the Astrodome, "Not in Indiana, Howard, but out in California . . ."

Al left the television on, but tuned his mind out of the news. He found out what he wanted to know and hoped beyond all hope that there would be food available. Maybe Sam was having some luck with the vending machines.

Sam would have enjoyed some luck. The machine didn't have much in it and even if it had, the choices were limited. Many of the items weren't for ingestion and Sam blushed. The bottom row of candy wasn't candy unless the definition of sweet things expanded to include afternoon delights in a room rented by the quarter hour.

There wasn't much left and Sam had no clue how long it had been in the vending machine, but he dropped two quarters into the slot. He decided on the Planter's Peanuts. They looked well-sealed and would fill his belly better than smashed bags of potato chips or Fritos. He listened to more coins ka-ching and bought three more bags of nuts and knowing his companions love of chocolate, bought two Hershey Bars. At that point, he had change left for two cans of soda. Somehow, out here in the middle of nowhere the soda machine had root beer. Sam smiled. Al loved his chocolate, but his all-time favorite was root beer. A nice cold glass of root beer might just keep the admiral from picking on him more. The food and drink were packed into various pockets and Sam made his way through the snow back to the room.

Winds and blowing snow made the twenty feet seem like half a mile. Sam thought back to the walk from the car. It was hard enough for all 175 pounds of him to get through it. Al was a head shorter and almost 35 pounds lighter. Another inch or more of snow during their trudge to the Lick Me Lodge and Sam would have had an Admiral sitting on his shoulders crabbing at the situation and blaming his ride over and over again. Thanking God for small favors, Sam finally reached their room. In only the time it took him to get to the vending machine and back, the snow had drifted again and the door was blocked. At least it wasn't that high and a few kicks with his feet cleared enough to open the door without dumping too much into the room.

Again, the key wasn't cooperating and Sam's frustration was growing until he got some help from inside the room. Al heard the commotion and pulled the door open from inside. "I was about to come out and look for you. It's getting worse out there, isn't it?"

"I didn't think it could, but yeah. Seems like it's windier. The machine didn't have too much, but I bought what I could. Hope you like peanuts and Hershey Bars."

"Two of the major food groups as far as I'm concerned. Good shopping, Sam." While Al was praising the food choices, Sam was emptying his pockets and pulled the root beer out. The Admiral's face turned seven-years-old. "Root beer, the machine had root beer?"

It was Sam's turn. "No, I brewed a tub of it and had it canned just for you."

Al knew he had the upper hand and he wasn't going to waste his ammunition too early, but he had to say, "No need to be huffy. I was just making small talk." The can of root beer was enshrined on the windowsill. "I'm going to save this for later when I'm really needing something to drink."

Sam unloaded the rest of the junk food, walked back to the hooks posing as a closet and hung his coat. "You know, it's getting even worse out there. It was a good idea to walk back here. We'd be in real trouble if we were still in the car. Stranded out on the road in these drifts would be dangerous."

"So you're admitting that you made a mistake in starting out this morning?"

His clenched jaw jutted forward and he took a deep breath through angry teeth. "I have to do that. You won't let me alone until I say it out loud." A quick glance at his reluctant roommate verified the statement. A mea-culpa fist pounded his heart, "Okay, okay, I made a mistake. We never should have left my cousin's campgrounds today. We should have stayed there and been snowed in for about two weeks until the county decided to dig out one last road. So, yes, we should have stayed there and been happy for another 14 days of camp songs." Dropping to his knees, he raised his hands to the sky, "Forgive me!"

Finally getting his confession, Al sat back in the folding chair, throwing his feet onto the table. "That's all I wanted to hear, but you know the camp songs weren't so bad and the food was terrific. Fried chicken, real mashed potatoes, succotash, chocolate cake and homemade cornbread; what's not to like?"

Sam dusted off his soggy knees and knocked Al's feet off the table. "At least be polite."

"You grew up around too many women." Al sorted through the candy and peanuts. "You hungry?"

The other chair was unfolded and Sam sat down holding his hands in front of the heat. "At least we have heat."

"As long as it lasts."

"Are you going to be contrary all night?"

"Not all night." There were only two opportunities on the table. "Hm, what to start with? You getting hungry, yet"

Finally able to relax, Sam just sighed. "I don't want anything yet. I'm not sure how long we're going to be here."

Al unwrapped a Hershey bar. "Was this all there was?"

"I didn't have any more money, but there was a lot of stuff in there."

Chomping down on the chocolate Al mumbled, "Good." The candy melted as he chewed. "Damn, whoever discovered how to make this stuff should get a Nobel Prize posthumously."

Sam held his cold hands in front of the heater. "I don't know anyone over the age of six who likes candy as much as you. You're still a child."

"Damn straight." He reconsidered, "Well, in some ways. There are things just for grownups, if you catch my drift."

"What's not to catch? You drift that way every 15 seconds."

The Admiral snickered and had to agree as he enjoyed his Hershey bar. "Chocolate is a wonderful aphrodisiac, Sam, and thanks to you, and your remarkable common sense, we're stuck here and there's no one here for me to . . . drift with." He sighed and they looked at each other. They were trying to come up with something to talk about when a muted sound interrupted their quiet. A soft thud whacked at the wall between their room and room three. They stared at each other and the thud came again. Al smiled while Sam was still puzzled. A steady thud, thud, thud, thud rang out and Al started laughing. "Looks like I'm not the only one who drifts, "his laughter grew and turned into a squeal of a laugh, "and in a nice, steady rhythm yet." Thud, thud, thud. "Sounds like someone in Lick Me is having fun." Sam hadn't caught the significance of the continuing thuds. "They're going to need a nap soon. That's a lot of exercise."

Finally, Sam caught on and he blushed from the tips of his toes all the way to the edge of his ears. "Oh no, please don't tell me what they're doing."

Al was having too much fun. "You DO know what they're doing, right? I mean, your dad explained it to you, didn't he? Or maybe your little sister did?"

The blush had trouble fading. "Of course, he did and Katie would never . . ." Thud, thud, thud, thud. "How long do you think they're going to be doing that?"

"Well, if it was me . . ."

"Fortunately, it isn't you. A normal man should be done soon." Thud, thud, thud, thud. "Dear God, let him be a normal man."

"Normal is overrated, kid." Al got up and tried to get the television tuned into something they might like to see. "Maybe there's a game on." Only two stations decided to cooperate and neither would keep him entertained. Turning off the TV, Al sat back down and said, "So tell me something about you that I don't know."

"Not on your life."

The thuds continued, but a new sound entered the chorus. The thin walls made it hard to distinguish. Al tilted his head like the RCA Victor dog. The muffled sound was the gasping of a very happy woman. "Spike! Spike! Spike!"

The Admiral laughed so hard he slipped off the chair and bounced onto the floor, but the ungraceful thump of his butt on the thin carpet couldn't stop his giggling. "Damn, his name is Spike. That's perfect, just perfect." He got up brushing away the gunk adhered to his Armani jeans.

From beyond the wall, the woman kept the mantra going. She called out, "Spike!" in ever increasing speed and volume. "Spike!" Thud, thud, thud, thud, and then a final, "Oh SPIKE!" and the show ended much to Sam's relief. A final long sigh and longer moan ended the performance.

Sam tried the television again. "There has to be something on." He wiggled the knobs a little and finally the obnoxious music of Jeopardy clipped in. "This will do."

The categories revealed themselves. Sam read along with Alex Trebek. "The 'I's Have It, Ancient Greece, General Store, Science Matters, Kiddie Lit, and Italian Opera." He groaned. "Am I going to have to listen to you spout off now about Italian opera?"

"Just be grateful that you're stuck with the only Italian who realizes he can't sing." Another chunk of chocolate flew into his mouth. "You know, it's a pity I'm wasting chocolate calories with you."

Sam looked over to his friend and shook his head with a smile and completely blank eyes. "What in the world are you talking about?"

Thud, thud, thud, thud. It started again. Al popped more chocolate. "Ask Spike."

Not again. "Al, there is no proof that chocolate is an aphrodisiac."

Swallowing the tidbit, he had to disagree. "You keep forgetting that it doesn't matter whether it works chemically or not. It's what chocolate does to the mind. It's the sweetness," thud, thud, thud, "how it melts," thud, thud, thud, thud, "the mouth feel on your tongue," thud, thud, thud.

From beyond a deep, booming man's voice passed through the wall, "Bambi!"

It was Sam's turn. He jumped to his feet. "Bambi? Her name is Bambi? For Pete's sake."

Al smiled a little too big. "Oh, I think it's for Spike's sake."

Sam's long arm pointed to the offending wall. Hi voice rose a little too loud. "You mean to tell me Spike and Bambi are going to be doing that all night?"

Al started coughing when a piece of chocolate went the wrong way as he laughed again. The laughter kept on as he gently slapped his chest a few times. "Hey, you do what you can."

The thud was replaced by the sound of a fist pounding against the wall. Spike's muffled voice yelled, "You two want to keep it down in there? We're trying to . . ." Spike searched for the right words.

Sam interrupted and yelled back. "Yeah, we know. Have a time!" He was almost done, "Spike!"

The Bambi and Spike Show highly amused the Admiral who was still hacking out the errant bit of chocolate he nearly choked on. "Have a time? What the hell does that mean?"

Sitting back down, Sam sighed. "I haven't a clue."

The television sounded out, "I'll take Opera for 500, Alex."

In his most officious voice, Alex read, "This Verdi opera is sometimes set in Boston."

Al didn't move and barely realized he was speaking. "What is **Un Ballo in Maschera**?"

"Boston? Verdi wrote an opera about Boston?"

"Not really, but it was considered too politically charged. He had to change the location so he could get it produced." Thud, thud, thud. "Sounds like Spike is producing, though."

Sam stomped to the television and cranked up the volume. "I don't want to listen to Spike and Bambi." His finger had been wagging a lot and it kept wagging. "And you! Just don't talk. Don't answer any questions. Don't talk to Bambi or Spike. And especially, don't talk to me!"

Al's two hands went up like puppet heads. He flapped the right hand. "He's cranky, isn't he?" Left hand answered, "He gets like this sometimes. It's best to leave him alone when he does." Righty agreed, "Yeah, I think we'll go take a shower. What do you think?"

Before Al had the opportunity to continue his musings, Sam took off a shoe and heaved it at the admiral. "Go shower! Leave me some peace."

Al stood up and tossed the chocolate wrapper in the trash can. "Good idea, Sam. See you, later." When he got to his duffel, Al pulled out his robe. "Take a nap, would you, kid? You're tense."

The Admiral disappeared into the bathroom and Sam let out a sigh of relief. As much as he loved the guy, this was exactly the kind of thing that gave Sam grief and that Al found hysterical. The young scientist hadn't developed much skill for inconvenience while the admiral was far too adept at making do with what he had. He reached for the root beer then thought better of it. As much as he hated to admit to it, Al might be right. They were here for a lot longer than he anticipated and all his stuff was a quarter mile away in a deserted car covered in snow. There was going to be a lot of unspoken "I told you so" action and all of it would be well-earned. Sam blew it. With Al in the shower, he had a little time to figure out how he was going to survive five days in a closed room with the world's most annoying and endearing man. So he had to smile. It would definitely be something he could tell the grandkids about someday.

The Jeopardy contestant nervously stammered, "Science Ma-Matters for $400, Alex."

"This American's work in Quantum Physics won a Nobel Prize in 1984."

Sam smiled and jumped up. "Hey! I'm a Jeopardy question!" He was about to call out for Al but he was in the shower and wasn't going to hear him. "Damn, I'm a Jeopardy question and he won't believe me."

The contestants looked at Alex and at each other. No one rang in. Alex filled in the empty sounds. "How quickly they forget. Who is Dr. Samuel Beckett? Not the playwright of course. That would be a different category. Choose another question."

The contestant asked for General Store for $200 leaving one last science question. Sam's ego felt abandoned. He whispered, "He said, 'How quickly they forget.' I can't believe it. It's only been four years." Thank God, the admiral was out of earshot of the television.

Then Sam heard, "Alex, I'll take Science Matters for $500."

"A former POW whose Apollo mission investigated ways to use Einstein's Theories of Relativity in space flight."

All three contestants tried to buzz in. The returning champion won the right to answer. She sighed, "Who is Al Calavicci?"

"Right!"

She continued talking, "And can you introduce me to him?" Everyone in the studio laughed as the woman turned beet red.

Sam hung his head. "Why? Why? Why? I just don't get it." Then he started to laugh out loud. "But then Al seems to get it a lot." He popped the top off the root beer. "He'd better start teaching me how he does it."

In his list of favorite things, right after sex with a hot woman, Al liked showering with hot water. The spray pounded down on his head, straightening his curly hair. He needed to get to the salon and get his military haircut back, but there was no going to a barber for the admiral. He had his stylist and let whoever make fun of it. The warm jet pelted the back of his neck when through the walls he heard the neighbor on the other side. Spike and Bambi lent one kind of ambience to the place. This other guy had a completely different outlook.

Muffled, but still intelligible the admiral heard a really bad tenor singing, "What a friend we have in Jesus. All our sins and hopes to bear."

He let his head fall forward into the wall of the shower. "Just what I need."

In reverence beyond the understanding of mortal man, the voice kept singing, "What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer."

When the cliché hits the fan, you got to go with it. If you can't beat' em, join 'em. In full, somewhat not so good voice, Al sang along. "Oh, what peace we often forfeit, Oh what needless pain we bear, All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer!"

The last line was a Calavicci solo as his partner heard the echo on his side of the paper thin shower wall. "Who is that? Who's there?"

Why not? If he had to be stuck at the Lick Me motel, he'd have his fun. "Just a fellow traveler on the path to glory."

The brain not more than three feet from him didn't quite understand. All he knew was that a voice from heaven heard his hymn of praise. "Lord, God, is that you?"

Oh yeah, that's exactly who he was. Just ask his five ex-wives. "Hell, no, brother. Just snowbound here with the likes of you." But hymns weren't on his top ten at the moment. "That was great. Know anything by the Stones?"

The voice agitated into near frenzy. "Be still, oh, son of Satan! oh, ye who cringes at the sound of praises to our Lord!"

He flung his gaze toward the yellowed, peeling ceiling. "Please, not one of these. Please, please, please." He said his own prayer. "Listen, I can deal with Bambi and Spike. I'll even promise not to tease Sam so much. Just let this guy go away quietly, okay?"

The answer he got dropped his chin to his chest. His neighbor began, "If you want to hear the songs of Zion coming from the land of endless spring. Get in touch with God. Turn your radio on."

One eye scrunched up totally puzzled. "Turn your radio on?"

The singing grew louder. "Turn the lights down low and listen to the Master's radio. Get in touch with God. Turn your radio on."

He rinsed off the last of the soap, turned off the water and as he dried himself, he made his offering to the voice beyond. With a voice sounding as if it traveled over forty miles of gravel, he started, "I don't care if it rains or freezes long as I have my plastic Jesus riding on the dashboard of my car, but I think he'll have to go. His magnet stops my radio and if we have a wreck he'll cause a scar."

"Blasphemer! Blasphemer!" The guy kept yelling until Al swore at himself for starting something he really didn't want to put up with.

When he left the bathroom, Sam was at the door. "What the hell is going on in there?"

"We got Sodom and Gomorrah on one side and over there," he pointed to the opposite wall, "we got Reverend Earl."

"Reverend Earl?"

He continued to dry off his hair. "I don't know what his name is, but he loves old timey hymns. Sounds like your kind of guy."

Sam nodded. "I thought I heard **Turn Your Radio On**."

"You mean that's a real song?" He dug through the duffel for clean underwear.

"Finally! I know something you don't." Sam smiled in relief.

The Admiral pulled out a pair of regulation Navy boxer shorts and slipped them on. "When I was growing up, if it wasn't in Latin, you didn't sing it in church." Clean sweats came out of the duffel next. Across the chest, great big gold letters announced his allegiance to the Navy. "Well," he ran his fingers through his curly hair, "I'm dressed for the night." He spotted the open root beer. "You going to make a run to the vending machine for more?"

"I'm out of change."

"So, go to the office and get some." He hung the towel on the rack in the bathroom. "Listen, kid, worse comes to worse, break the damn thing."

They walked back toward the chairs. Sam admitted, "Al, I'm not sure I can do that."

"Wimp."

"Not being able to destroy private property makes me a wimp?"

"In some circles, it will get you singing soprano for the rest of your life."

As if on cue, Reverend Earl started pounding on the wall and singing at the top of his voice. "Just a closer walk with Thee. Grant it, Jesus, is my plea." Then the rhythm section started on the other wall. Thud, thud, thud, thud.

Sam threw his hands in the air. "I'm going back to the car." Grabbing his coat, he took three huge steps toward the door before Al caught up with him.

The Admiral's fingers caught the edge of Sam's sleeve. "Mr. Smart Guy, what the hell do you think you're doing? You're not going to the car. In case you haven't noticed, it's snowing!" Pulling more on the sleeve, he managed to get Sam seated in a chair. "Now, you done running?" Sam rolled his eyes. "Good. That means you can get more root beer." Dagger eyes shot at the admiral who threw his own hands into the air. "Hey, you're the one wearing a coat. Go get more food. Who knows? By the time you get back maybe Bambi and Spike will need a rest and Rev Earl there will decide to stop singing."

There was no way to get back to the car and embarrassed, Sam whispered, "You're telling me to cool my heels, aren't you."

Al thought, bunched his eyebrows a bit and twisted his mouth a bit to the side, "No, but if it helps to think of it like that, then sure. Cool your heels. Go buy more food and root beer." Sam still dawdled. "Go and while you're at it, tell the Rev that I'm not the son of Satan."

Smiling a little too big, Sam started for the door. "Don't know if I can do that, Al." Making sure he had a chance to bolt as fast as he could into the mounds of blowing snow, Sam teased "I don't like to lie." He darted out more for the effect than the retribution he might encounter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Snow Job**

DISCLAIMER: This Quantum Leap™ story utilizes characters that are copyright © by Bellasarius Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement on their respective copyrights are intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan fiction story is written solely for the entertainment of the readers and are not for profit. All fiction, plots, and original characters are the sole creations of the author. 

_**Part Three**_

The walk to the front office was more difficult than before. Over five minutes passed before he was able to get into the warm lobby, if you wanted to honor it with that title. He was just about as cold as he'd ever been. "Hello?" Nothing answered. "Hello? Anyone here?" Why did he think he'd find a human being?

Sam never thought much about his over-honest ways. His parents just expected him to not steal, lie or cheat anyone. Going behind a counter in a business establishment just gave him the willies, but being called a wimp and every other term the admiral could come up with was even more willie inducing. A gut sucking breath and he marched behind the registration desk. He'd never seen the back of a counter before. It intrigued his explorer's brain. He pulled at a drawer that had a keyhole on it. "That's got to be where the cash is." A slight tug and surprisingly, the drawer slid open freely. Inside he found what he wanted. "Good grief. Anyone could just steal all this." Still shaking his head, he slapped down a ten spot where tens should be and grabbed a roll of quarters. Looking up he said, "Thank you," and headed back to the vending machines. He spotted an empty grocery bag. "Good. This way he won't be sending me out again till at least tomorrow."

Whipping snows made the tips of his red ears curl and the vending machine was under more snow. He plunked a quarter into the slot and waited to hear it fall. It didn't. "Don't do this to me." His hip bumped against the old, cold mechanism and after three hits, he heard the coin drop. The next one followed more easily. Just for kicks, he bought an extra item. With his bag filled with chocolate, potato chips, Fritos, root beer, diet Coke and - for some reason unbeknownst to him - a little packet of paper with a golfer's tiny pencil. Considering the only items other than food were (as Al called them on those special occasions when he wanted to embarrass Sam) manhood mittens, in varying sizes and textures, the little pad of paper was something he oddly just had to buy. Sam dumped everything into the paper bag and wished he'd worn his hat.

Getting back to the room was a harder walk. The wind pushed at him and fought each step back into the room. He passed the door of Reverend Earl and as he did, the door flung open. "Beware the son of Satan!"

"Excuse me?"

A bony hand pointed toward room two. "Satan's spawn resides in that room!"

"I reside in that room with him."

Bloodshot eyes stared out from the unshaven cousin-married-cousin face. "He is to be feared! He is the spawn of Satan."

"You told me that. I know. Now, I need to get to our room." Sam shook the bag. "Spawn wants more root beer."

The hand reached out and took Sam's face and raised his eyes to heaven. "Lord, protect this man. Keep him from the evil lurking in room two. Keep his heart pure and true."

Sam pulled back. "I'll be fine. The Lord has protected me from Satan's spawn so far and I don't think He's going to stop now." It took a little effort to get out from Earl's hand. "By the way, what is your name?" The zealot looked confused. "Satan's spawn called you Reverend Earl. Who are you really?"

The man staggered back into his room and screamed like a banshee searching for Ireland. "Satan's son! I told you he is Satan's son. He called my name!"

"Because he called you Reverend Earl? He was just being goofy."

The man's eyes grew and grew and the fear on his face multiplied like loaves and fishes. "I am the Reverend Earl Johnstone. Tremble! Tremble with fear for the spawn of Satan knows my name."

The man's distress made Sam feel sorry. "Listen, he's just a guy. In fact, he's a decorated war veteran and an admiral in the Navy. He's a little unusual, but I can promise you that he is not the son of Satan. He can be noisy, but mostly he's harmless." A little lying was okay here. The man was going to have a stroke.

Earl sank down onto the unmade bed. "This snow is his doing. I know this, for why else would the Lord abandon me here amid the lustful and sinning masses."

"Reverend, there are no masses here. There might be a little lusting in room three and the snow is just a geothermic phenomenon. Snow happens. It happens all the time in Indiana." Sam pulled the door toward him. "Now, if you need anything," a sudden sense of sensibility hit him, "Just go ask at the front desk."

It took another minute to get to room two, but the ratty door looked like heaven. He pushed his way in and found Al stretched out on the bed reading a book. "Where did you get a book?"

"From my duffel. I always carry a book with me." Holding it up he told Sam, "Tom Wolfe's latest. **_Bonfire of the Vanities_**. Good story."

Sam recalled his own reading material - material left in the car. "I have **_A Brief History of Time_** in the car. Hawking is a genius."

"Great book, but it's not for scientists. It's kindergarten for you and 6th grade for me. You want non-fiction, then you got to pick up **_The Making of the Atomic Bomb_**. We need to make it required reading for everyone employed at the Project. Makes you think about what we want to do."

Sam dumped the bag on the table and took off his wet coat. "I want dry clothes."

"You can find some in the car. Oh, wait! The car isn't here. It's about a quarter mile and 30 inches of snow down the road." His face went back into the book. "Get those wet clothes off, take a hot shower and hang out in your shorts. Won't bother me any. I'd let you wear the other pair of sweats I got in my bag, but they're too small for you."

Sam hung his coat on the peg and started taking off his wet shoes and socks. "If you have a large, I can squeeze into it."

"Sorry, kid. The shirt and pants are both mediums. I don't like my sweats baggy."

He couldn't catch a break and it started to annoy him. "Why didn't you grow like normal people?"

Again, Al lowered his book. He was going to get another dig in, but he had to keep his face straight for it to work. "Well, Sam, my father was about 6'4" and built like Arnold Schwarzenegger. The docs at Annapolis said my size is probably due to childhood malnutrition. Now, where did you grow up? A dairy farm?"

A long, low growl filled the room. Al got him good. "Okay, I forgot about that."

Smiling at his victory, Al wrote in the air. "Calavicci, 857. Beckett, three," then added quietly, "More like two, but I'll give you that one back last August." Waving his friend off he told him, "Go get dry. You'll get sick and you're the doctor here."

While stripping down to his shorts wasn't the most appealing thing, Sam had to admit that getting the wet cold clothes off felt good. He decided a shower might warm him up. "Okay, my turn in the shower with Reverend Earl," realizing Al hadn't heard the story yet, "whom I met, by the way and you're never going to believe this. He really is a Reverend and his name is Earl. Earl Johnson, Johnston, no Johnstone, that's it. I tried my best to convince him you're not the son of Satan."

"I've been called worse."

Kidding his pal, Sam admitted, "I know. I've called you worse myself, but this guy is nuts. Don't provoke him, okay?"

"I never provoke anyone."

Sam lowered his chin and raised his eyes, "You? God forbid." He was just about to disappear into the bathroom, when he had to ask, "What did you say in there to make Earl so upset?"

"Just started singing."

Nodding, Sam laughed, "That would do it!" Al shot him a glare accompanied with half a grin. Sam laughed more. "That sure as hell would do it."

Nose back in the book, "Probably didn't help that I sang **Plastic Jesus**."

"**Plastic Jesus**?"

Without taking the book from his eyes, Al crooned, "I don't care if it's dark or scary long as I have magnetic Mary riding on the dashboard of my car. I feel I'm protected amply 'cause I got the whole holy family riding on the dashboard of my car."

The lyrics bordered on sacrilege. "You know, you just might be Satan's spawn."

Al kept it up, getting dramatically into the chorus, "Magnetic Mary! Magnetic Mary! Riding on the dashboard of my car. Once her gown was snowy white, but now I see, it ain't quite so bright. It got stained by the smoke of my cigar."

Shaking his head, Sam made his way into the bathroom for his shower.

The book was getting good. Al moved into speed reader mode to try to figure out what Wolfe's yuppies were going to do after running down the homeless guy. He heard the water start and then Sam's big baritone started in. "I saw the light. I saw the light. No more darkness. No more night. Now I'm so happy, no sorrow in sight. Praise the Lord, I saw the light!" Behind him, the wall once again added rhythm. Thud, thud, thud, thud.

The absurdity of their hole-in-the-wall was still laughable, but Al hoped and even began praying that it would end sooner rather than later. The television sputtered a bit and the picture disappeared into a black hole of a dot in the center of the screen. He was perfectly willing to survive without a television, but he didn't like the idea that it sizzled out the way it did. Pulling the plug would assuage his fear of fire, so he rolled off the bed and made his way to the wall. Just as he lowered his hand toward the socket, a spark flew out and scared him back about three steps. "Damn, that can't be good." Then, like anyone who wanted to test the Fates would do, he grabbed the cord, yanked it hard and fast, breaking the connection and sighing in relief. His engineer eyes took a close look at the cord. Frayed wires ran through the exposed covering. The next step was to check all the other things in the room. He wasn't about to go up in smoke at the Lick Me Motel.

The clock was okay. He took a little more care checking out the cord of the heater. It looked fine and more importantly, it felt cool. Actually, the heater looked relatively new compared to the bed sheets. Regardless, he opted to lower the temperature a little to let the mechanism cool down a bit. Before he went back to reading his book, he pulled the extra sweatshirt out of his duffel. He did have a large sweatshirt on hand. No man with an adequate supply of testosterone buys a sweatshirt any smaller than that, but yanking Sam's chain was an obsession he couldn't overcome. Now, the sweatpants were a different story. He was too short to wear large sweatpants without looking like a garden gnome in a Tae-Bo class.

Sam kept singing the refrain of **_I Saw the Light_** and despite how good the voice was, after about ten choruses, Al had enough. He knocked on the door of the bathroom. "Hey, get a new tune, Beckett!"

Yanking chains was a two way street for the buddies and annoying Al was just what he wanted to do. "It's my favorite hymn," and he had to add, "Oh, Spawn."

From beyond the wall, Reverend Earl joined the conversation. "Oh, ye son of Satan! you must see the light! You must see the light and ask your God for forgiveness."

Sam laughed. Al rolled his eyes and Reverend Earl began his own off-key version of the song. "I wandered so aimless, life filled with sin. I wouldn't let my dear savior in. Then Jesus came like a stranger in the night. Praise the Lord, I saw the light!

Every so often, the stars align and everything happens perfectly or imperfectly depending on your point of view. Al yelled to the Rev, "Hell, I don't need to see the light!" and the entire motel crackled with the sounds of a power outage. All of a sudden, no one saw the light.

From behind his walls, Reverend Earl was heard repeating, "Save us, Lord! Save us, Lord!"

Sam looked up at the dark ceiling light and called to Al, "Didn't know you could do that! Pretty cool, Al."

It wasn't a tragedy, but plans needed making so Al went into commandant mode. "Sam, get out of there and dry off before we lose all the heat in here."

All of a sudden, the thudding from the other wall came fast and furious, with each participant calling out the other's name, "Bambi!" "Spike!" "Bambi!" "Spike, what happened to the lights?"

"Lights, what lights?" Thud, thud, thud."

Al stood in between the extremes of human behavior and rubbed his eyes. "What the hell is going on here?" It was his turn to look up to the heavens. "You testing me? This is a test, right?"

Sam popped out of the bathroom and Al threw the sweatshirt at him. "What's this?"

"A sweatshirt, Moriarty." He grinned. "It's a large. I was fibbing before." The room was nearly blacked out. "But I don't have pants that fit you. You're on your own there."

The bright snow reflected the little bit of light still available. The room was a haze, but at least Sam could see outlines. "It's going to get cold in here pretty quickly. The wind is strong."

"So, put your pants on and let's see if we can find the owner of this joint. There's a wood burning stove in the office. We'll burn the damn furniture. I don't like being cold."

Sam dressed as quickly as he could. The dry sweatshirt fit well enough, but the only pants he had were wet from the knees down. "Cold, wet wool. Nothing feels better. You got dry socks?"

"Yeah, check the duffel." Standing by the window, the admiral gazed at the unending deluge of white stuff. "This is just nuts. Give me the desert any day." Walking back toward Sam he kept on talking. "You get the Rev and I'll get the banger twins. I'll meet you in the lobby. Where the hell are my boots?"

"Ow!" Sam reached down and rubbed his sore toe. "I found them." The free hand handed his attackers to the admiral. "I don't think I'm ever going to get warm."

When things needed doing, Al got all business. As he pulled his boots on, he told Sam, "You'll be warm." He grabbed his coat and gave one last instruction. "You get the Rev and I'll pickup Bambi and Spike. Tell him to grab the blanket and bedspread and bring it along. You bring the ones from here." He tucked his hands into his gloves. "And bring the goody bag."

Al pushed his way out the door leaving Sam standing there with his mouth hanging open. "I guess you're in charge." But there was something comforting in knowing his friend was going to pull everything together. He finished dressing and followed orders.

Once outside, Al started cursing under his breath. Until the lights died, their situation was inconvenient. Now the potential for emergency reared up. The snow between room two and room three drifted almost to mid-thigh on him. Albeit, he was not a tall man, but snow that deep was not safe. The 12-foot hike to room three took several minutes and he had to take a few calming breaths to get him ready to confront Bambi and Spike. His gloved hand banged on the door and he called out, "Open up!"

His acute hearing heard Spike anxiously hustling around the room. "You're way over 21, right?"

Bambi practically squealed, "Way over 21? Way over? How old do you think I am?"

Al could feel the guy's pain. Whispering quietly, he told the unseen Spike, "Man, you're screwed. You will not win this one."

Spike didn't have the sense God gave Gilligan. "But Bambi, you're . . . you're still pretty."

The admiral shook his head. "Aw, Spike, wrong thing to say. Just plain wrong in so many ways."

"Still? What do you mean by 'still'?"

He had to stop it before his fellow fellow got any deeper into things. "Hey, open the door. We got to find the owner here and figure out what to do!"

The thud puppies scrambled around and it was a full three minutes before Al was welcomed inside. A one-time lovely, now very chubby, 40ish woman, dressed in a camisole and a pair of panties that would make both sets of cheeks frostbitten if the door stayed open any longer, gave him a look-over. She stood up to her full six feet in height and hummed, "Come on in, short, dark and handsome."

Every so often expectations just don't meet up with reality. While it was his nature to give all women a good look, this time he was trying to be sure that the figure in front of him wasn't Spike. Once assured that the very bleached blonde was a woman, he darted into the room to get away from the blowing snows. His foot started tapping impatiently. "You're Bambi?"

"You can call me anything you want," her hands slipped to his waist as she looked to his tapping toes, "Thumper. I bet you are a thumper, aren't you?"

It's not that she wasn't his type. Almost anything that ever wore a skirt was his type, but timing is everything and this timing couldn't be any more wrong if he tried to design it. "I've had my moments, but, honey, this ain't one." He pushed her hands off of him. "Not sure if you actually noticed, but we lost power and it's going to get really cold, really fast. There's a stove in the lobby. You and Spike need to get dressed, grab the blanket and bedspread and come with me where we can stay warm."

"Exercise keeps you warm." She fingered a stray curl on his head. "You like exercise?"

Pulling her hand off his head he told her, "Bambi, another time, another place, but we have to think long term here. If we freeze to death, then there won't be any more thumping at all."

She sighed her disappointment. "I guess." Turning toward the bathroom, she called out in the grating voice of a trucker after a pack of Camels, "Yo, Spike! Get a move on. We got to go back to the lobby and wait this thing out."

Spike slinked out of the bathroom like a ferret on speed, pulling on his pants and trying to zip the fly. "I'm comin'! I'm comin'!" He spotted Al and froze in his tracks, his slacks dropping down to the floor. "Dear Lord, in heaven." Wearing satin polka dot boxers and stumbling over the chinos wrapped around his ankles, Spike saluted. "Seaman Arnold de Beauvoir at your service, sir!"

Curiouser and curiouser. Al was terribly confused. "First thing, Seaman, I'm not in uniform so you don't need to do the saluting thing. Secondly, how the hell do you know me.?"

Al hadn't returned the salute yet so Spike still stood with his hand at his forehead. "Everyone knows you, don't they, Admiral?"

Bambi sidled up to him again, "Not everybody, Spike." She tickled Al's ear and said, "Thumper, are you an admiral?"

"Stop it." Finally, realizing Spike had frozen in his salute, Al returned the unnecessary protocol and watched the man relax. "You don't have to salute. Just call me Al."

Trying to get into his hair again Bambi purred, "I like the name Al."

"So do I." He pulled her hand down, "I asked you not to do that." Backing toward the door he tried again, "Listen, we have no power. The rooms are going to get very cold. I can't imagine the insulation is any good in these walls. So, get dressed, fold up the bedspread and the blanket and meet us in the front office." He pointed his finger at the bug-eyed seaman like the commanding officer he was. "Pull up your pants and get her and you down there in 15 minutes, Seaman. Understood?"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Arnold saluted again, his hand riveted in position waiting for Al to do his part of the whole thing.

"I told you before, I'm not in uniform. We are not on a military base. You don't have to do that."

The stammering was getting on Al's nerves, but that simply made Spike get more confused. "Aye, aye, oh, okay, aye, sir." He lowered his hand, but his head lowered with it until the skinny little guy hunched over.

Rolling his eyes like only the Italian admiral could, Al grunted, "You got to be assigned to Intelligence, right? "

Spike had his zipper in his hand and he wasn't having much luck getting it to work. "Yes, sir, I was." Finally, the zipper cooperated. "I always have trouble with this zipper."

Bambi turned her attention to her recent partner. "You didn't have trouble pulling it down."

Al threw his hands in the air. "I'm out of here. Be in the office in 15 minutes." Braving the elements yet again, Al made his way toward the office. The snow between his room and the good Reverend's was recently disturbed, so he figured Sam was trying to convince the preacher that Al was not a relative of Satan's. He knocked on the door reluctantly, "Sam, open up!"

Inside the room, Reverend Earl stood in the far corner as Sam bundled up the bedspread and blanket. "I'm telling you the truth. He isn't the devil or the son of the devil or even a distant cousin. What I said before, I meant it. He's a two star admiral in the Navy. He won the Congressional Medal of Honor. A few years ago, he was an astronaut and flew to the moon and back."

"He cringes at the sound of hymns."

Sam walked to the door. "I'm going to let him in and you can meet him." His hand slipped to the doorknob. "You ready?" Reverend Earl nodded. "Okay, I'm letting him in." Tugging at the door, Sam let the admiral and about three inches of snow in. Al pulled the door shut behind him.

The wind and cold made Al's face quite red and Bambi's fingers allowed for some curls to stand up from his head. In the low light, Reverend Earl saw the outline of the devil, horns and all.

"Be Thee gone!"

Al buried his head in his hands. "I'm done." Ignoring the preacher, Al told Sam, "Bambi and Spike are getting their gear together. I'll meet you and . . ." pausing for a second or two, "my arch-rival on the other side." He made his way out without closing the door completely.

Page 10 of 10


	4. Chapter 4

**Snow Job**

DISCLAIMER: This Quantum Leap™ story utilizes characters that are copyright © by Bellasarius Productions and Universal Studios. No infringement on their respective copyrights are intended by the author in any way, shape or form. This fan fiction story is written solely for the entertainment of the readers and are not for profit. All fiction, plots, and original characters are the sole creations of the author. 

**_Part Four_**

Like a reluctant four-year-old demanding to stay at Toys-R-Us, Earl whined as Sam dragged him out into the blustering weather. "Lord, see us out of this darkness. May your heavenly light shine upon the wickedness that we are to confront."

Once outside, Sam watched Al trudging ahead trying to get through the snow that was knee high at the very least. Regardless, Al walked through it as if the snow knew better than to get in his way. He managed to get into the office and out of the snow and cold. Too many years in hot weather made dealing with winter a hardship he didn't appreciate. Though he knew all the electricity was out, he had to try the light switch - even though it was already flipped up. "Yeah, like my trying it is going to make it all better."

The darkness had him relying on the memory of his five minutes inside the bug-light lit space. There was a table with a magazine somewhere near where he was walking. "Ow!" His throbbing foot told him he was a little closer than he thought. "Damn!" He wiggled the stubbed toes to dissolve the annoying sting. "Okay, so I found the table. That means the stove is about four paces to my right." He took four steps and tentatively put his hands out to find his target and there it was. There was still a bit of warmth coming from it. "Good." His hand reached into his inside coat pocket and he found a cigar and his lighter. The cigar was safe for the time being. Mostly he wanted to get some source of light in the room. A small flame doesn't do a lot, but he saw a door leading to another room. The lighter flicked off and made his way into the new space. He flipped the lighter again. It was a storeroom. Toward the back was a sink. No heat could freeze pipes and the one thing he wanted as much as heat was water. The faucet was still working and he left it trickling to ensure the water supply. An old wooden chair sat to the side offering a short source of fuel for the stove.

What he really wanted was a flashlight with batteries that still had life in them. The lighter got hot and he had to let it cool before he burned his fingers, but off to the side he thought he saw what he coveted. His hands touched the rickety shelving and with a lot of tentativeness, he started blindly groping for what he hoped he had seen. "Flashlight, please be here." Gloved fingers hit something. He reached for it and it felt right. "Yes! Excellent!" He toggled the switch and a beam powered by recollections of a memory of a real light sort of glowed a dull, dull yellow. "Damn." It wasn't much, but he quickly made his way around the store room, locating a short supply of lumber, a box of refills for the vending machine (mostly condoms) and three candles in plastic net-covered glass jars, the kind Ruthie used to put outside when she wanted to keep mosquitoes away. They had a name, but it escaped him. He didn't care. One hand grabbed the three jars and he heard Sam entering with Reverend Earl. He turned back toward the door and saw a dead spider the size of a small toad. "Holy shit!"

Earl heard the expletive from Al and sang out, "Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war." The wild eyes stared at Sam and even though it was too dark to see them, they bored into the scientist. "Dr. Beckett, join with me!"

Al whipped his head around to face Sam. "You start singing and I'll throw the both of you out of here. I like a good old-fashioned gospel fest, but I'm done being Satan. It's getting on my nerves." He put the candles on the small table. "Sit his ass down and keep him quiet."

Earl was relentless. He soared into the second verse. "At the sign of triumph Satan's host doth flee; On then, Christian soldiers, on to victory!" With no regard to Al's demands, he just kept going.

There were times when the Admiral's short fuse got out of control and Sam had developed a sense when it was going to explode. Al was close and Sam had to stage an intervention. He pulled his friend to the side, "Okay, the guy's a little over the top. We both know that, but just let him sing and he'll stay away from you." An actual growl came from Al's throat, "I know, I know, but you can tune people out better than anyone I know." The second growl sounded a bit more pit bullish. "Al, this guy is a bit odd, but he's not doing anything more than singing hymns." The truth of that diminished Al's growl to a mild curling of his lip. "So, just don't listen to him. Pretend he's Gooshie explaining how he rose to Wizard in Dungeons and Dragons."

"I hate that game."

"I know you do, so just pretend Earl there is trying to use his magic decoder ring to cross from one realm to another."

Al stared at where he thought Sam's face might be and burst out laughing. "What the hell did you get us into here? I am promising this to you, Beckett. You will never be allowed to live this one down. Do you get it? Never."

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. "I sort of knew that awhile ago."

"I bet you did."

Earl kept on going, "Like a mighty army moves the church of God; brothers,"

Sam joined in, "we are treading where the saints have trod."

"We are not divided, all one body we, one in hope and doctrine, one in charity."

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em so Al offered up his voice, "We are not divided, all one body we, one in hope and doctrine, one in charity. Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war, with the cross of Jesus going on before."

Earl stopped cold and dropped to his knees! "Praise the Lord! It is a miracle, a miracle in the snows! He sings the songs of the Lord!"

"Hell, if I'd a known that's all it took, I'd a joined in long ago."

"Praise God! He has seen the light!"

Earl was now delighting in the fact that he converted Satan's spawn. Sam pulled Al aside, "Too bad it's not really that easy to bring folks back."

"You know, Sam, sometimes folks that you think need to be brought back don't feel the same need even if the music is good. Now, there's some wood in the back room. Let's go get it."

For the first time in a long time, the admiral stunned Sam. He followed behind and thought something else needed saying. "I'm sorry, Al. I didn't mean anything."

He turned around and figured he was pretty much face to face with his buddy. "Listen, I'm sorry. I get a little cranky when things go wrong and you got to admit, things have gone way wrong here. I got to calm down. We have shelter, some bags of stuff that will pass for food, the water is running and looks like we have a working bathroom. All in all, this is the Atlanta Marriott compared to other places I've been." Maybe he'd done enough soul searching. "So, you just have him sing quiet. Anyhow, his little Satan fixation is going to get a workout once Bambi and Spike arrive. Wait till you meet these two. She's like Amazon woman and he makes _me_ look big." Al started to chuckle. "Wait till Bambi gets a hold of you." The chuckle blew up into laughter. "She's a little . . . how should I put it . . . single minded?" He smiled big enough for Sam to see even in the dark. "No, she ain't interested in singles." Laughing louder at his joke, he left Sam terribly perplexed and a little scared.

"What does that mean?"

"It means you better start singing with Earl there. Maybe she'll find the one true path." He turned on the flashlight and scanned the room. To the side he saw the short pile of logs. "There. We got to get at least two loads of those out to the lobby, which is giving that room more respect than it deserves."

The two men managed to bring out the wood just as Bambi and Spike arrived. Al handed Sam his lighter. "Go light a candle, but just one of them. We don't how long we're going to be here."

Bambi started talking, "Why it's darker in here than a hooker's roots!"

Al elbowed his buddy. "She's a pearl among swine, Sam, a pearl among swine."

"Oh, boy." He lit the candle and citronella scented the room. Sam thought the smell was better than the reality. Then he finally got a glimpse of Bambi and Spike. His lower jaw dropped and his eyes got way too big. "Oh, boy."

The admiral knew they had heat, water, food, blankets, and each other. He finally found himself able to laugh again. "At least we won't be wanting for entertainment."

Spike carried in the blankets and pillows. "Admiral, sir, where do you want these?"

Al surveyed the surroundings. There was only one couch and while he thought Bambi was an interesting and probably very inventive woman, his chivalry told him to let her have the couch. The men would take up the floor. "You got the bedspread there?"

"Yes, sir."

The Admiral elbowed Sam. "Let's get all three bedspreads down on the floor for some padding." With Earl and Spike looking on, Sam and Al laid the spreads near the stove.

Sam pulled it back a bit. "Too close to the stove. These things would probably go up in flames in a second."

Nodding, Al agreed and tugged his side so that it lay about a foot from the rickety table holding the candle. "Good thinking. I've lived through too much to be caught dead here in South Bufu."

Spike laughed. "I ain't heard that since I left Great Lakes."

While the second spread was placed on the floor Al asked, "That where you were stationed?" Spike mumbled and hid himself in a far corner.

Bambi sidled over to Sam, "Oh, who cares where anyone is from?" Her face was inches from Sam's. "Only important thing is we're all here now." She drew her index finger down his nose. "You know what they say about men with strong noses."

He could only stutter, "Uh, n-no," and then laugh gingerly.

Al was back to having a good time. "Just think big feet, Sam, really big feet."

At full voice Earl started up again, "On a hill far away stands an old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame;" He emphasized the word "shame" as he walked closer to Bambi.

The move wasn't lost on Bambi. She pulled away from Sam and stood in front of Reverend Johnstone, one fist on her hip and one hand waving a finger in his face. "Now, you listen to me, Earl. I don't want you singing those hymns around here. You drive out half my clientele every time you check in!"

Sam and Al looked at each other. Al found his tongue first. "You own this joint?"

"Al, sugar, this may not be the Ritz, but it got you out of the snow, didn't it?" She edged over and started with his curls again. "I love short men. They always have something to prove. You interested in proving things to me, Allie, honey?"

"Darling, I don't need to prove anything."

It was Sam's turn. "Just ask his five ex-wives." He continued stacking wood inside the stove. "The last one seemed to complain about everything except his ability to prove himself."

Al snarled, "Do you think you're helping me?"

Sam broke out laughing and fell on his butt. "Of course, not! Why on earth would I try to help you? You've been a pain in my ass since we left camp this morning." Looking back and still laughing he shook his head, "I had to. The opportunity presented itself and I had to take it."

Walking over, Al reached a hand out to his friend, "Yeah, I would have done the same thing." Sam reached up, took Al's hand and started pulling himself to his feet. "Yeah, Sam, I would have done the same thing." He slid his hand back and Sam landed on the floor with a reminiscent thud. "That sounds familiar, doesn't it, Bambi?"

Her attentions turned to Sam. "Bang, bang." She moved behind him, "I like big boys, too and you are quite the big boy, aren't you?"

It was Al's turn. "Hey, Bambi, did you know my friend there won the Nobel Prize for Physics?" He grabbed the questionable magazine he saw when they signed in and tore out about half a dozen pages. The pages rolled into kindling as Al lit the end and got the stove burning again.

She tried to slip her hands down into Sam's back pockets. "Yum, yum. Smart and with great big feet. What else could a girl want?"

Sam pushed her away. "How about an astronaut? The Admiral there flew to the moon on Christmas Day even! Now, what's better than that?"

Bambi laughed and put her hands on her generous hips. "I got me an embarrassment of riches!" Her eyes traveled from Al to Sam to Spike to Reverend Earl. "Well, three out of four ain't bad."

The stove began to glow a little. Al wasn't listening. His attention was his conquest of the wood stove. "We got heat - at least until the wood runs out. Let's hope the power comes on again soon."

Spike spoke up from his place in the corner of the room. He was sitting on the floor, his arms wrapped around his legs. "It might stay off for a few days. Not much out here and it ain't much of a priority for the county. Now, if we was on the main roads . . ."

Jumping in as if he didn't know the answer, "You mean this resort isn't on the main road?" He stomped his foot. "I can't believe it!"

Sam sighed loud and a bit too long for his point, but this was only the beginning of their communal survival of the storm of the century. "Okay, time for some rules."

Al started to fold up the blankets. "Yeah, you make us some rules, Sam."

"Every civilization has rules, Al. We need to figure out what we're going to do to get through this."

"Now we're a civilization? You go for it, kid. These should be good."

Sam used his hands to wave the group onto the bedspreads. "Okay, on the floor. Everyone."

They looked at each other, then at Sam and finally at the Admiral who sat down about a yard from Sam. Bambi sat between them saying, "This is cozy." She leaned toward Al. "Well, Admiral, sugar, what are these rules you want us to follow? Anything fun?"

"Bambi, I'm not the rule maker here. You got to ask the good doctor."

The word doctor added to Bambi's infatuation with Sam. "Mama always wanted me to marry a doctor. She'd be busting the seams of her girdle if I came home with you, honey."

Ignoring her was the only plan the world's most brilliant mind could come up with. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to take turns sleeping so that someone is always awake to watch the stove."

There was a twisted side to the Admiral. When the time was appropriate, he took every advantage of every word Sam said. This time he had to ask, "Now, what do **_you_** mean by sleep?"

Bambi nodded. "I'm an adventurous girl, but if you are all going to take turns I got to get a break in there somewhere."

Even in the dim light, they all could see Sam turning twelve shades of crimson. "That's not what I meant. Oh no, please, I would never . . ."

His stammering got Al and Bambi laughing. The motel owner leaned toward Al, "He's easy."

"Depends on what you mean by easy, but yes. He's so easy it gets embarrassing sometimes."

Sam had to work on ignoring both of them now. "It's early yet, so who would like to try and . . ." He was about to say sleep, but thought better of it. "Try and rest a bit."

Bambi stood up. "It's too early for sleep. Let me go get us something to eat. You all hungry?" A general mumbling had them agreeing. Something to eat sounded good. "Let me see what I can find. Hand me that flashlight, Admiral, darlin'." He handed it up to her. "Now, don't you all go anywhere." Flashlight in hand, Bambi went into the back room.

Looking around the room, Al saw Spike still hanging out in the far corner. "Spike, what's so interesting over there?"

"Nothing, sir."

"I told you, there's no need for the 'sir' stuff. We're not in uniform and we're nowhere near a military installation."

"Yes, sir."

Whispering to Sam Al had to admit, "Damn, we're good at brainwashing, aren't we?"

"Some bright morning, when this life is o'er, I'll fly away, to a home on God's celestial shore! I'll fly away. I'll fly . . ."

Earl continued his song while. Al just lay back on the bedspreads, his eyes to the ceiling. "God in heaven, please get me out of this as soon as you can."

Bambi bounced back into the room. "I found three cans of corned beef hash. Anyone hungry? Got some chicken noodle soup too."

Al's head popped up like a puppy hearing kibble dropping into a bowl. "You have something to heat up that hash in?"

With a can of hash and a pan in her hands, she winked at Al. "Got me a skillet."

"I bet you do." Al sprung to his feet and took a can of hash from Bambi. It was almost industrial weight. "Good grief, you go through this much hash out here?"

"Only when the fleet's in." She tucked her elbow into his ribs. "Anchors aweigh, m'boys, anchors aaaaaaaaaaaaa-weigh."

He took the hash and the skillet. "You got to have a can opener, right?"

Her free hand reached down into the depths of cleavage worthy of Mt. Rushmore, in between Teddy and Abe. "Right here. You know my motto - be prepared."

It was time for fun again. "Hello! You need some help with the excavation?"

Sam was appalled. "Al, don't talk to a lady like that."

Pulling the can opener from the depths, Bambi said, "Don't accuse me of being a lady. You'll stop all my fun." Looking at Al, she teased, "You can go mining anytime, but if we need plates, those are still in the store room.

Al put his hand in Bambi's. "Let's you and me go make dinner."

"You sure that's all you want to make, short stuff?"

He laughed out loud, "Yeah, darlin', that's all." Tugging gently, Al pulled a giggly Bambi toward the store room. "Let's get the plates."

An hour later, they'd finished the tub of hash and warmed up to the point that coats were taken off. Even Sam's cold, damp hair managed to dry out. Earl managed to stop singing long enough to fall asleep, but the snoring was noisier than the music. Spike, finding his forty winks, hadn't moved much from the corner. He was avoiding the Admiral like an ensign who slept with the SecNav's wife more than twice. Sam lay back on the bedspreads and curled into a ball joining the sleeping Reverend. Bambi wrapped herself in a blanket and took up the couch. At least she didn't snore. Al looked around and realized he was the only one who hadn't nodded off. He'd left his book in the room and with nothing to read and no one to talk to and not sleepy enough for a nap, there was nothing to do.

The Admiral looked around at his partners in crime and laughed. He couldn't have gathered an odder bunch if he tried. Sam would pay for his little, "I can drive in this snow," statement. So he added a few more logs to the stove. It seemed to be doing just fine. After half an hour of watching the stove work quite well, he lay back, put his hands behind his head and just a few minutes later, he also was asleep.

When he woke, it was dawn. He smelled something cooking and he recognized the scent of more hash. Everyone was awake. A hand wiped across one eye and then the other and then the first again. He wanted to be sure that he actually was seeing what he thought. The sun was shining! Earl was stirring the hash. Sam was absent, but Bambi was standing at the window shaking her head. Al walked to her side. "It looks livable out there finally."

"I hope so. That little Spike ain't nowhere around!" She pointed at relatively fresh footprints. "He's out there walking! Now, why in the world would he take off in this snow?"

"Got me."

"Yummy." She curled a little closer to him. "Now, that's a nice idea."

From behind he heard, "Good morning, Al. Notice anything different?"

The Admiral turned to see Sam standing near the store room door. Behind him, the room was illuminated. "Hey, we got power back!"

Sam wiped his hands on a paper towel. "Best I can tell it came on about two hours ago."

Pulling Bambi's hands out of his front pocket, Al walked over to his friend and quietly asked, "Was Spike gone by then?"

"Yeah, kind of weird. I woke up around five and he was gone. The power came on about half an hour ago. The heat is up and running. Phones seem to be working, too."

"You call the cops yet?"

"What for?"

Al sighed. "Because we're stranded out here and you have a rental car stuck in a ditch ten miles down the road."

"It's a quarter mile."

The hash sizzled as Earl stirred the pot. His never-ending hymn library resurrected, "When I'm dead and buried, don't you weep after me . . ."

Whispering to Sam, Al rolled his eyes. "There's a cheery little tune."

Bambi started toward the phone behind the front desk. "I'll give Cookie a call. She's the police dispatcher. I'll have her send someone here. Haven't seen Bobby Dean in a long time."

Al looked at Sam. Sam looked at Al. Together they asked, "Bobby Dean?"

The Admiral shook his head, yet again. "We're too far north for **Deliverance**, aren't we?"

"Yeah, way too far north."

The phone was ringing and Bambi started talking. "You boys are just too funny for words!"

Earl finished the chorus. "I don't want you to weep after me."

Off in Spike's corner of the room Al noticed his duffel bag. "You bring that in here?"

Sam looked to where Al was pointing. "No. I thought you brought it last night."

"Uh-uh." His heavy brows scrunched together. "Something is hinky here, Sam. Spike is gone and my duffel is here when it shouldn't be."

"You're looking for trouble when there isn't any."

Earl piped up, "Breakfast is served!"

Bambi finally got through to the police dispatcher. "Hey there, Cookie! How are things going for you? Bet you had a busy night with the boys, eh?" The gutsy laugh made her point. "Yeah, I know. It's all business for you and Bobby Dean." Earl brought her a plate of hash. "We're just fine, just fine. I got Earl Johnstone here and a couple of cutie-pies holed up from the snow. Just the cutest pair of snow bunnies you ever did see"

Al nudged Sam, "How you doing, cutie-pie?" A forkful of hash stuffed his face.

"Almost as well as you, snow bunny."

Bambi looked at the telephone with indignance. "Yes, of course, they're men! Good-looking ones too! Got me a doctor here and an astronaut." There was a long pause. "I am not lying. Got me a real live astronaut." She held the phone out and called, "Hey, Al honey, come tell Cookie here that you're a real live astronaut."

Al swallowed, put his plate and fork down and walked to Bambi. She handed him the phone. "Hello, Cookie. I was a real live astronaut. I left NASA two years ago." There was another pause. "Let's see. Do you remember the astronaut who did the moon landing on Christmas Day?" He listened for a few seconds. "Okay, good. I was that astronaut." The squeal coming from Cookie forced the phone from his ear. Once she seemed to be under control he told her, "I'm giving the phone back to Bambi. Nice talking to you." he walked back to his food and plunked his backside down on the floor.

Sam was laughing. "Sounds like you made her day."

"I have a way with women."

Wiping his face, Sam was still laughing. "So you keep telling me."

Bambi stayed on the phone. "I told you I had an astronaut." She ate more hash. "No, not like **_that_**, but I tried!" Her laughter was full and raucous, "You should have seen Spike go into conniptions when he saw my astronaut!" More hash filled her face. "Oh, okay. I'll hang on." Bambi turned to her audience. "Bobby Dean is on the radio. Cookie has to tell him what's happening here."

The lack of a conversation for Bambi brought out the reverend in Earl. "Brethren, we have survived Satan's snow." He jumped on the chair and spread his arms out wide. "Can I hear an Alleluia!" Apparently not. "Brethren, rejoice in God's glory! Can I hear an Alleluia?" More silence. "The devil has his foot in your mouths! Blast him away! Sing to the Lord!"

Being Italian, Al often agreed that when in Rome, do as the Romans. He popped to his feet and started singing with the gusto of a traveling revival meeting sort-of-holy man, "Gonna lay down my sword and shield down by the riverside." Earl began clapping in rhythm as Al got more and more into the old gospel tune. "I ain't gonna study war no more!"

The Reverend threw in an "Amen, brother!"

He finished the chorus with a flourish. "I ain't gonna study war no more." And as fast as he stood up, Al was back on the floor, his fork in his hand and more hash in his stomach. Sam was a bit stunned. "What's wrong, Sam? Maybe you should take a verse. You know it, don't you?"

"Sure, I do." Sam cleared his voice and sang out, "Gonna put on my golden shoes down by the riverside, down . . ." He stopped and looked very thoughtfully at Al. "Wait, you're the one with golden shoes."

Al laughed and leaned back until he was staring at the ceiling. "Damn straight!" He didn't move a muscle, but he found another song for this little competition. "Oh, dem golden slippers, oh, dem golden slippers. Golden slippers I'm gonna wear because they look so neat!"

The reveries stopped dead with a noise from Bambi that resembled a goose honking on its way south. "What?" She held the phone out, staring at it like it was a rattle snake hissing at a pony. "Well, you tell Bobby Dean to get his ass over here with that little snake in the grass. I got me the Admiral HERE! Bobby Dean's got a little ensign who told me his name was Spike. Let me tell you, girl, calling himself Spike was a dream that wasn't never going to come true. That boy wasn't more than a three-penny nail."

Al held his gut laughing. "I don't believe this." He looked up at Sam. "You find the keys to that car. When Bobby Dean gets here, maybe we can get it started up and get out of here. Chicago is calling. I need civilization."

His overcoat was lying across the check-in desk. Sam patted down his pockets and came up empty. "Can't find the keys. Do you have them, Al?"

"Why would I ask you to find them if I had them?" He realized what happened. "The little weasel! He took the car keys!" Then he panicked. "Shit." He sprang to his feet and got to his duffel before Sam had the chance to blink twice. Rummaging through it he grumbled and finally grumbled loud enough to be heard. "Damn, that twit stole my wallet." He rummaged a little more. "Did you put your wallet in here, too, Sam?" A slow, dumbfounded nod answered Al's question. He turned to Bambi. "You tell Cookie to get Bobby Dean here with Spike and then get a jail cell ready for me because I'm going to KILL HIM!"

Sam called to Bambi, "Tell Cookie that Spike might have stolen some things from us." He went to Al's side. "Listen, calm down. He has our stuff. The police have him. We're okay. Calm down."

Al kept muttering, "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him."

"You're not going to kill anyone."

Narrowed eyes stared the good doctor down. "Yes, I am. I'm going to kill Spike and then I'm going to kill you!" He parroted back Sam's words. "'I can drive in the snow, Al. No problem.' Well, it looks like we had a problem, doesn't it?"

All he could do was shake his head. "You know, you're either laughing at what's going on or you're plotting murders. Is there any middle ground for you?" He toyed with the Admiral. "I mean, you sound bipolar to me. Think you might be bipolar?"

Sam was right. Their stuff was on its way back and the culprit was already in police hands. "Okay, okay, you're right. I just have to calm down. I don't like getting taken and Spike is a Navy man. Taken by one of my own! He's going to have hell to pay in military court. The Navy doesn't like enlisted men stealing from admirals."

In the clear, crisp, cold distance, the group heard a siren blaring. It approached the motel. Bambi hung up the phone and looked out the window toward the nearby two lane highway. "Looks like Bobby Dean is closer than I thought."

There were several versions of Al Calavicci. One was the guy wearing red suspenders with teal blue slacks and a silver shirt dancing the night away at some hole-in-the-wall bar. There was the science guy who could spend eight hours going over one equation and wonder where the time went. The crazy Al would speed off on a motorcycle moving way too fast and taking turns way too sharp. And if he admitted it, there was even a kind of sentimental Al on those occasions that warranted it. Then there was the Admiral. Regardless of the situation, the clothing, the place, the environment, the people around him, when the Admiral showed up, everyone knew it. As the sirens wound down in front of the motel, the Admiral had definitely arrived. Even Reverend Earl stopped singing when he watched the metamorphosis. He may have been the smallest one in the room, but they all were just a little afraid.

Admiral Calavicci positioned himself as far from the front door as possible. This was for Spike's sake. They all heard the crunching of footsteps in the knee-high snow. The door opened slowly and in walked a silver-sunglassed cop over six-six holding onto the collar of a little ferret of a seaman. "Get your butt in there, Navy boy." He pushed Spike further into the room. The thief stood where he ended up and didn't take his eyes from the floor. "Hey, Bambi, looking good."

"Bobby Dean, you say the nicest things." She walked over to her thud partner. "See you found him. You find everything he took?"

"Took? I just thought he was AWOL. That's all the Navy warrant read." Bobby Dean put his hand on Spike's shoulder. "You got something to tell me?"

From the corner, Al barked, "Name, rank, serial number, sailor."

Bambi smiled, "Don't he sound like an Admiral, Bobby Dean?"

"Heck, I knew he was the Admiral when I walked in." The sheriff nudged Spike, "You not going to answer your superior officer, boy?"

The poor guy almost had tears in his eyes. "My real name?"

The disappointment in Bambi's face just wailed out a letdown. "You mean you're not Arnold de Beauvoir? I loved that name. It was so pretty." Smiling at Sam she confided, "That means Arnold the good-looking."

From the corner, Al barked, "Name, rank, serial number, sailor."

His lower teeth clicked rapidly with more than a little fear. "Glass, Jack Daniels, Seaman Apprentice, serial number D313442." Then he remembered to whom he was talking. "Sir. I forgot to say sir."

Al marched up to Spike and stuck his face half an inch from his. "You have something of mine, Seaman? I think you do. I think you have something belonging to my friend as well." The Admiral spoke to Bobby Dean. "He's not carrying, is he?"

Bobby Dean turned Spike to face him and patted the scared little guy's body. "Don't look like he's got a weapon, but I think he has a few too many wallets here." Handcuffs locked Spike's wrists behind his back. "Let's see what we can find on him."

Sam was an Eagle Scout. "Is he under arrest? Because if he isn't, you can't handcuff him like that, can you? And don't you have to read him his rights?"

Bobby Dean smiled, "I guess I should be official with it all. Can't have this tweak getting off scott-free because I didn't tell him he was under arrest." The cop continued pulling stolen items from Spike's pockets. "The Navy issued a warrant for him. Seems he's AWOL. So, Seaman, you have the right to remain silent. . ." and the officer finished Mirandizing as he pulled item after item from all sorts of pockets. "Looks like we have a few things that don't belong to us, don't it."

Finding some bit of courage Spike puffed up to say, "I refuse to answer on the grounds it might incriminate me."

Al backed off to let Bobby Dean do his job. "You're not testifying in court, Seaman. You're not under oath. You're just arrested."

Wallets littered the counter at the front desk. Spike pilfered a few more than just Sam's and Al's. Bambi shook her head and clucked like a fourth grade school teacher. "You been busy, Spike. I trusted you and look what you did? You stole from my best customers."

Bobby Dean opened up a wallet and read, "Looks like this one is his." He read the Navy id, "Yep. Glass, Jack Daniels. Now that is one hell of a name."

The Admiral stood in Spike's personal space again. "Why did they name you Jack Daniels?"

"They told mama I was a boy. She yelled Jack Daniels and the midwife put it down for my name. She was actually asking for a drink."

Al looked at Sam. Sam looked at Al. They both looked at the Glass of Jack Daniels in front of them. Bobby Dean handed over their wallets and the keys to the car. "Now, I got the tow truck coming to pull your rental out of the snow bank. They should be here with the car in about an hour or so. I'd like you both to stop at the station before you continue so we can finish up all the paper work, okay?"

Reverend Earl put his hand on his heart and his eyes to the sky and sang, "Oh, sinner man, where you gonna run to? Oh, sinner man, where you gonna run to? Oh, sinner man, where you gonna run to all on that day?"

Bobby Dean escorted Spike back out with a wink to Bambi. "See you later, sugar pie, right?"

"Just don't tell Cookie!" Bobby Dean and Spike disappeared. Bambi thought out loud, "I better be sure the vending machine is filled up again. That little Spike really did have stamina."

Earl brought out all the drama, "Lord says 'Sinner man, you should've been a praying.' Lord says 'Sinner man, you should've been a praying.' Lord says 'Sinner man, you should've been a praying all on that day.'"

Al wandered over to the couch, plunked himself down, put his hands on his head and leaned back to contemplate the last 24 hours. Earl still had a few more verses to get through. Bambi opened up the box of refills for the vending machine and stacked it by the door. It was surreal and absurd, a story Al could tell the grandchildren some day when and if he had grandchildren. "Did I ever tell you about the time your Uncle Sam said he could drive us to Chicago through the blizzard of the century? I didn't? Well, come on up here," and a grandchild or two would crawl onto his lap and he'd tickle them while he exaggerated about the singing Reverend Earl Johnstone and the noisy neighbors playing . . . playing . . . He tried to think how he could explain Bambi's and Spike's recreational activity to children. Then he smiled. Maybe the story of the Lick Me Motel wasn't a story for the grandkids, but it sure was a story.

Sam sat down next to his buddy. His bright eyes looked big and innocent. In all earnestness, he told Al, "You know, I really can drive in the snow."

The Admiral curled into a ball of laughter. "Just give it up, Sam. Give it up."

T**HE** E**ND**


End file.
